Rants and musings about this Kali Yuga from a broad who should keep her mouth shut, but doesn't. (Kali Yuga: the "Dark Age" lasting 432,000 years...when avarice and wrath are common, rulers become unreasonable, cowards have the reputation of bravery and the brave are called cowards...and lies are passed out as truth.)

18 August 2008

poetry: even yoga teachers get the blues

I used to write poetry -- even won a few awards -- and one of my favorite poets of all time is Leonard Cohen....Avalanche is one of his songs from his Songs of Love and Hate album released in 1971.

Cohen's recurring themes in his poetry were love and sex, religion, and psychological depression...all totally interrelated as far as I'm concerned....funny how I was so attracted to those themes as a dark, young, hippie chick in high school...I wanted to run away and live with Cohen on those Greek isles he wrote about....

"Well I stepped into an avalanche,it covered up my soul;when I am not this hunchback that you see,I sleep beneath the golden hill.You who wish to conquer pain,you must learn, learn to serve me well.You strike my side by accidentas you go down for your gold.The cripple here that you clothe and feedis neither starved nor cold;he does not ask for your company,not at the centre, the centre of the world.

When I am on a pedestal,you did not raise me there.Your laws do not compel meto kneel grotesque and bare.I myself am the pedestalfor this ugly hump at which you stare.

You who wish to conquer pain,you must learn what makes me kind;the crumbs of love that you offer me,they're the crumbs I've left behind.Your pain is no credential here,it's just the shadow, shadow of my wound.

I have begun to long for you,I who have no greed;I have begun to ask for you,I who have no need.You say you've gone away from me,but I can feel you when you breathe.

Do not dress in those rags for me,I know you are not poor;you don't love me quite so fiercely nowwhen you know that you are not sure,it is your turn, beloved,it is your flesh that I wear."

I'm dealing with some life-changing shit lately and one of my friends suggested a Rumi poem to me:

THE GUEST HOUSE

This being human is a guest houseEvery morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,some momentary awareness comesas an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,who violently sweep your houseempty of its furniture,still treat each guest honorably.He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,meet them at the door laughing,and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,because each has been sentas a guide from beyond.

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